


Overture

by TheCephalopodAgency



Category: Penumbra (Video Games)
Genre: Character Swap AU, Gen, clarence has cynophobia, clarence is a mess, clarence is philip, he's going to looove the mines haha, poor guy, somebody help him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 09:50:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15337287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCephalopodAgency/pseuds/TheCephalopodAgency
Summary: There is something important I need you to do for me-- a last request, if you will. You might not understand the necessity, but trust me when I say there is no other option. Do not make the same mistakes I have.My father, Howard, deserted us before I was born. I could tell you it was the letter I received from him just after my mother’s funeral that blinded me to what I needed to do, but that would be a lie:My own nature sealed my downfall.My name is Clarence. If I’m lucky, by the time you read this, I’ll be dead.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Boy, is this self indulgent or what? Writing a fanfic for a dead fandom. I don;t really work on this that often, but occasionally I get really into the series again and work on this. I decided to go ahead an post what I have for now.
> 
> If anyone of the three people in this fandom see this, hi *waves enthusiastically*

To make sense of what I have to tell you, I have to start at the beginning. My mother died about a year and half ago. After her funeral, my father sent me a letter. My father Howard left us before I was even born, and I hated him for it. My mother and I didn’t see eye-to-eye when it came to him. She idolized him, despite the fact he abandoned her just weeks after their wedding. He was apparently a genius, so of course I must have inherited his intelligence. I didn’t get to have a normal childhood because of him. I was only allowed to study. No matter how apparent it was that I would never be a genius, she only pushed harder and harder. She even cooerced me into attending medical school immediately after I graduated High School. She wouldn't talk to me for years when I dropped out after two semesters.

 

I was kind of glad when she finally died-- I didn’t hate her like I hated my father, considering there were times we actually did get along. The last year of her life she hardly even mentioned him. The point is, I thought it was finally over when she died. I would never have to hear the name Howard LaFresque again. Until he sent that letter.

 

I nearly didn’t open the damn thing, and honestly now I wish I’d torn it in half and tossed it in the fire.

 

He had the nerve to beg for forgiveness and ask me a favor in the same sentence. He couldn’t have known mother was dead, now I think about it, but it made me angry that he didn’t write a single word about her. No message for the ‘love of his life’, just his stupid errand. I was supposed to go to a bank in DC with a key he sent alongside the letter and burn the contents of his safety deposit box. I had to know what was so important about it, which was my first mistake.

 

It turns out, Howard has been ‘dead’ for thirty years. The thing that brought him back from beyond the grave was an old book and a collection of notes I could hardly decipher. I really should have burned them, but my second mistake was studying them. I did this because I felt it would piss him off, learning is dirty little secrets. It was incredibly slow going. The only thing I recognized was a map of Greenland, with an area in the uninhabited northern portion of the map circled in red. It wasn’t a very detailed map but the coordinates would lead me to the location easily enough. Everything else was written in some strange language that I couldn’t identify, no matter who I asked.

 

I scoured the internet for hours, trying to match the symbols to other languages. The only thing remotely close was ancient norse runes, but there was something different about them. I eventually contacted a linguist and even she was stumped by the journal.

 

The notes were easier to understand; they talked about the location in uninhabited northern greenland, presumably where I would find my father.

 

It took me a year to scrape together the funds to book the last flight I would ever take. As I watched the last glimpse of civilization grow smaller and smaller through the window, it never once occurred to me that I would disappear like my father had almost three decades ago.

 

We landed on a strip of ice a few feet wide where a chartered boat was waiting for me. It was here I began the twelve hour journey that would lead to my death.


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of the boat’s horn woke me from my uneasy slumber. I groaned when the stiffness in my back reprimanded me for passing out in the rickety chair a few hours ago. Despite the circumstances, I found myself jittery with excitement, a feeling which clashed terribly with the ever present unease settled in the back of my mind ever since I set off from home over a day ago. Finally, we were almost docked. Before I could leave, however, I needed to stow my gear in my bag.

 

The journal I bought was sitting on the table in front of me, right next to my map of Greenland. I’m sure it’s still good, despite being at least a good decade or so out of date. Landmarks don’t really change in Greenland that much, so I’m not too likely to get lost. I hope. Flipping open my notebook to the first page, I quickly skimmed over the checklist of supplies I packed. Most of it was in the bag already, which was also locked safely in a metal locker.

 

I did bring a flashlight, but it was old and devoured whole batteries by the hour. I’m not sure how much I’ll need it but the pack of batteries in my bag should keep its voracious appetite sated for a few hours at least.

 

Considering I spent the majority of the trip asleep, I didn’t really have much time to explore my surroundings. I finally had a chance to look over the room I was staying in. It was empty, now; my roommate was any one of the five men who actually worked on the boat as a fisherman. The chest at the foot of the bed caught my interest earlier, but I didn’t want to snoop with their eyes on me. My nose wrinkled in reflexive distaste when I opened it-- from the smell, I’d have to say it was used to hold bait just as often as it held anything else.

 

The only things occupying the chest at the moment was an empty whisky bottle and a letter addressed to Eric-- the captain, I believe-- from his wife. I skimmed it; not like he was here to say I couldn’t-- and disregarded it as kind of boring, although I did agree with her that only having two bunks for five people was incredibly inefficient.

 

Speaking of beds, I don’t think they wash them between voyages. Even standing on the other side of the room after twelve hours to acclimate, the scent made me feel sick. There’s a reason I didn’t sleep on that bed, and it isn’t the ugly green sheets. God only knows what’s been spilled on that bed over the years. Judging by the playboy poster taped to the wall above the pillow, I didn’t want to think too much about it either. Next to the scantily clad woman was a photo of the captain and his wife. It struck me as odd that he would hang her picture next to his buddy’s porn.

 

When I opened the locker to retrieve my glow stick I faltered-- there was a photo of several dogs taped to the inside that I hadn't seen the first time I’d opened it. I hated dogs. I ignored it and grab the glow stick so I could get out of here. A pair of loose batteries were rolling around on the top shelf and I took them too. The boat’s horn sounded again, signalling our arrival.

 

_ As I stepped off the boat, setting out into the blizzard forming around me, I felt that unease grow. Something told me to turn back before the boat left me behind, before my desire to discover my father’s secrets destroyed me. Looking back now, I wonder if something supernatural was behind this, something otherworldly trying to keep me from descending into the hell that followed. _

 

_ By the time the boat was a speck on the horizon, I was convinced I’d made a fatal error. I’m not sure if I lost my orientation, or my spirit, first, but soon after that I lost feeling in my face and limbs. I’m no doctor, but I could tell it was hypothermia setting in, and I started to look for shelter. I wish now that I’d frozen to death. _


	3. Chapter 3

So… cold… Don’t know where I am… need shelter soon. I hugged myself tighter, rubbing my hands across my sides and flexing my fingers in a vain attempt to keep them warm. I was walking in a path carved from two steep walls of ice and snow, but it offered little shelter from the wind and falling snow pelting my face. My entire head went numb a long time ago... all I could hear was the roaring wind. Each gust tore across my face like a razor.

 

For a moment, I think I might have blacked out. I was suddenly face first in the snow. It was so cold, I wanted to scream. Why? What made me think this was a good idea? I pushed myself up, the last of my strength ebbing away as I used it to fall back on my knees. That’s when I saw it; several barrels buried in the ice stood out against the blinding white of the snow. I managed to crawl forward, dragging myself through the snow until I reached them. And there nestled amongst the rock, was an old metal hatch. I gripped the valve with clumsy fingers and pulled. Frozen solid… Must… break… ice…

 

I pried a rock loose from the snow and bashed it into the ice until it broke. I hope to God it’s not frozen inside as well. So weak… but if I can just turn the wheel… there. I lifted the hatch and shifted my legs into the hole, feeling for the rungs of the ladder attached to the edge. It was immediately a few degrees warmer when I started to climb down and the wind stopped blowing against me. I clung tightly to each rung, climbing slowly. I can’t trust myself to move any faster with all the feeling gone from my hands and feet. It didn’t matter how slow I went about a quarter of the down. The metal snapped, from the pressure of who knows how many years of cold temperatures and rust building up, sending me hurtling downwards.

 

I think I screamed when I fell, but I hit the ground before I could be sure. This time I’m sure I blacked out. When I opened my eyes everything was blurry. My head hurt where it hit the ground. I moved to rub my cheek and found the imprint of the metal grate I landed on pressed into the skin. Looking up, I could see the sky through a small window. I can’t believe I fell that far and survived. Although… looking around the dark room I landed in, maybe I didn’t… what is this place?

 

I dug through my bag for the flashlight and clicked it on, shining it in front of me. I made out a heavy looking wooden door across the room and made my way toward it, weary of the wooden beams supporting the rock above. They were cleary old; the wood looked soft from rot in places. The door was blocked, of course. I pushed with all of my weight, but it didn’t budge. Something must have been blocking it from the other side. I kicked at a wooden crate next to me in frustration. My toes prickled in protest, but I took it as a good sign that I was starting to feel them again.

 

There was a flare inside the crate. The outside had only small signs of water damage. I put in my pocket next to my glowstick. I looked back towards where I landed, and my light caught something shiny. A dented metal rod lay forgotten in front of another door I hadn’t noticed yet. This one was mercifully open. Next to the open door I noticed a few stacks of dull green military ammunition boxes. Was this some sort of old outpost? It was like a movie, or a game. I pried one open but it was empty, unless I counted the dust at the bottom useful, which I did not.

 

I pulled my hood down so I could poke my head through the gap between the door and the frame. It was darker in here, but I could see more ammunition boxes, barrels and shelving. It must have been some sort of storage room, I guessed as I pushed the door all the way open. The shelves had a few old military rations sitting under decades of dust and grime. I rubbed the dust away and tried to read the date, but the metal was too corroded to make anything useful out. The image on the front was reminiscent of WWII era propaganda. I found another partially damaged flare on the shelf under the expired ration and picked it up as well.

 

On different shelf I found a hammer. Rusty and well-used, but functional. If I needed to, I might be able to dig the hinges out of the door frame in the other room. There wasn’t anything useful on any of the other shelves, but I did notice one of them was different. It was made of metal and unlike the wooden ones, wasn’t too heavy. There was a gap between it and the one next to it that hid some sort of portal barricaded with soft wooden planks. I pushed the metal shelf out of the way, wincing as it crashed into the ammunition boxes, and bent down to examine the wall behind it.

 

The hole was large enough that I could easily walk through if I crouched. I stuck the hammer between two of the planks and dug the claw into the back. The wood splintered easily and I made quick work of the barricade. The stone was cool to the touch, even through my gloves. I didn’t really want to go through the tunnel, but it was the only way forward. About five steps in I came across a fork. I wasn’t even sure which way I wanted to go when everything started to shake. My heart pounding, I crawled down the left passage, ignoring the way my knees knocked against the ground. I didn’t have to go far to see another portal into a different room, and I tumbled ungracefully onto the floor, breathing heavily.

 

It was the room I tried to enter first. It couldn't have been any other room. A stack of barrels was propped against the door, explaining why I couldn’t push it open. Aside from that feature, a strong metal hatch was built into the stone floor. Some kind of industrial mechanism was screwed into the floor to my right. There was a hole in the center that looked as if something was meant to fit into it. I immediately thought about the metal rod I’d seen in the entrance. It must open the hatch.

 

I wasn’t going back into the tunnel again. It may have been a short trip, but the way the rock shifted, I didn’t want to take the chance of being trapped. I had just put my hands on the barrel on the top of the stack and was about to push it off when something rammed against the hatch from below, snarling angrily. A cloud of dust rose up, blocking the view port. I yelled in surprise, knocking the barrel off the stack. It crashed into the floor and shattered, making me jump again. I backed into the wall, staring at the hatch with wide eyes. The dust cleared, and I flicked my flashlight back on, aiming it at the hatch. I could still hear the snarling, but there was nothing on the other side, except for a steep, narrow ramp.

 

Was I imagining things? There were no footsteps leading to or away from the hatch, just the snarling. Could it have been more rocks falling below? I turned the flashlight off again to conserve battery and looked through the bars of the hatch for a while, until my heart stopped racing and I was certain nothing was actually down there. I wasn’t sure where this path led, but unless I wanted to stay here and starve to death or attempt to climb back to the freezing surface above, I needed to move forward. This was the only option. I wondered if this is where my father went. Did he come to this old bunker? Was I in the wrong place after all? Following the map in a snow storm wasn’t exactly easy.

 

There must be another exit somewhere beyond that hatch. The entrance I used was far too remote to have been a main entrance, and there was no way most of these objects would fit through that small hatch I fell through. I climbed back to my feet and continued my original goal, pushing the barrels away from the door so I could go through and collect the metal rod I left behind earlier. I was right about it fitting into the mechanism. It slid in place as easily as putting my hand in a glove, and with some effort, I managed to open the hatch.

 

_ Whatever I was descending into, it was at least a hundred feet below ground, protected by two solid, metal hatches, located in the most remote arctic wilderness, and buried in the snow. I didn’t know what to expect, but it made me feel like a child again. _

 

_ I’d never really given it much thought before, but I realized that human society is a network of safety nets: emergency services; health and safety regulations; friends and family… All there, if something goes wrong. _ _   
_

 

_ I hadn’t been this afraid since I was a child, alone in my room at night, the closet door surely going to swing open at any moment to reveal the monster within. Surrounded by older kids at the park, knowing anyone, parents, teachers, friends, were either too scared or too far away to save me. Down here, I was all alone, with nobody to turn to if I got hurt. It made me realise just how fragile I was. _


End file.
